


fever breaking

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, more sickfic, they're married, this time lovelace is the sick one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: “Don’t bite my head off, Commander,” she tried to respond, but her voice was hoarse, almost gone from the phlegm coating her throat. Lovelace coughed to clear it, and then just coughed, deep and rasping from her chest, shaking her entire body under the covers.





	fever breaking

“Don’t you  _ dare _ try and hide that thermometer from me!” Minkowski was channeling a voice Lovelace associated with her mother, and she was doing it well enough that she half expected her to pull out the full name threats.  _ Isabel Sofia Lovelace, you had better listen to me this instant or else! _ Minkowski planted her hands on her hips and glared, and despite how honestly shitty Lovelace felt she managed a laugh. 

“Don’t bite my head off, Commander,” she tried to respond, but her voice was hoarse, almost gone from the phlegm coating her throat. Lovelace coughed to clear it, and then just coughed, deep and rasping from her chest, shaking her entire body under the covers. It hurt like having her lungs sandpapered, like she had breathed in particles of glass and was trying to get them out.  _ Fuck!  _ As she wracked her lungs trying to hack out the sickness, the anger faded from Minkowski’s face, replaced by concern so genuine that Lovelace’s heart hurt. She took a step forwards and reached out hesitantly, smoothing Lovelace’s hair back from her forehead with dry, cool hands. The coughing fit started to subside, and Lovelace leaned into Minkowski’s hands, feeling them like a balm on her damp, feverish skin. “Thanks,” she managed, roughly.

Minkowski stroked her hair back and sighed. “Lovelace, please. I know you put the thermometer somewhere, but I need it. I need to see if your fever’s gone down any.” She leaned in and kissed Lovelace’s forehead gently, and as much as Lovelace wanted her to get away because both of them getting sick was so, so much worse than one of them she wanted Minkowski here too much to say it. Minkowski pulled back and leaned down, cupping Lovelace’s face in her hands and looking at her with liquid brown eyes. “Please?”

Lovelace resisted her gaze for an instant, then exhaled through her nose and slumped back against the pillows of their bed, defeated. She twitched back the covers to reveal the oblong white-and-grey form of the thermometer, tucked against her pajama-clad leg. “I didn’t want you to worry,” she whispered. Lovelace had checked it earlier, anyways-- 101 degrees still, no sign of the fever lowering any. 

“I’m already worried,” Minkowski said, her eyes pitying. “Hiding things from me isn’t going to improve that any.” She reached down and picked the thermometer up from the bed covers. “Open your mouth.” Lovelace did as she was told, obediently opening up even though the dry air hurt her raw windpipe, and Minkowski stuck the thermometer under her tongue, holding it there until it beeped. She pulled it out, looking at the numbers on the digital display, then raised a hand to her head and wiped it across her brow. “100.5 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s down a little.”

“So, will I finally be able to get back to work soon?” Lovelace raised an eyebrow at her wife, who rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Minkowski, I’m going crazy here.”

Minkowski pinched the bridge of her nose, looking away slightly. “Depends. Your fever might have broken, but from the sound of that coughing I’d say you have a lot of recovering to do. You might still be bedridden for a while.” At Lovelace’s despairing groan, “All right, fine. I’ll move you to the couch if you want it so bad.” 

“What are you going to do, pick me up and carry me?” Lovelace was only half-sarcastic, and Minkowski knew it. She flattened her lips into a disapproving line, and Lovelace gave her a weak smile. “You said I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, not me,” she said, giving a slight cough for effect. Minkowski groaned, put down the thermometer on their bedside table, and reached down and slid her arms under Lovelace, pulling her up and out of the blankets to carry her bridal-style down the hall.

Lovelace never ceased to be surprised at how strong Minkowski was, especially considering how short she was-- the commander was a full six inches shorter than her, and Lovelace wasn’t all that tall anyways. She relaxed into Minkowski’s well-muscled arms as she carried her to the living room and set her as gently on their old, stained sofa. Minkowski pulled away and looked down at her. “Happy now?”

“As happy as I can be, considering the circumstances.” Lovelace gave a small noise of discomfort as her vocal cords grated against one another and shifted on the pillows, trying in vain to be more comfortable. “This  _ sucks _ , Minkowski.”

Minkowski sat down on the edge of the couch and put her hand on Lovelace’s arm tentatively. “I know, love. With luck, you’ll be better soon.”

“And without luck?” Lovelace saw Minkowski’s face fall and shook her head. “Don’t answer that.” She reached over with her other hand and stroked Minkowski’s gently, feeling the delicacy of the bones and veins and sinewy tendons that lay just under the skin. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine,” Minkowski echoed quietly. Then a little louder, “You’ll be  _ fine _ , Lovelace. I’ll make sure of it. The sickness won’t last forever.” She stood, taking her hand off, and Lovelace missed it almost immediately. “Is there anything I can get you?” 

Minkowski was looking down at her so earnestly, with so much obvious desire to be able to help, that Lovelace couldn’t tell her that there wasn’t anything she needed except for a panacea. “Water? And we still have some cough syrup or cough drops or something, right?” Minkowski nodded, and Lovelace made a sound of acknowledgement and leaned back. “Yeah. Then, just… stay with me? I need you here more than anything else.”

“Okay,” Minkowski said. “I can do that.” She gave Lovelace another quick kiss on the forehead, then headed into the kitchen. Lovelace heard water running into a glass, then rummaging through cupboards for probably longer than it should have taken to find something. Finally Minkowski returned with a half-full bottle of cough syrup in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “This is all we had.” She set the glass on a coaster on the coffee table, then poured out a precise amount of cough syrup into the measuring cap and handed it to Lovelace. “Drink.”

Lovelace drank, making a face of disgust at the artificial-cherry flavor of it, then motioned for the water glass. Minkowski handed it over, and she drank deeply to get the taste out of her mouth. When she was done she handed it back, slowly. “God, why can’t they make that stuff taste any less gross?”

“I think it’s to spite you, specifically.” Minkowski smiled a little, and Lovelace saw again how beautiful she was, even though she knew Minkowski must have been exhausted. She reached out and touched Lovelace’s cheek. “It’ll end, Lovelace. You won’t be sick forever. I promise.”

“I’d better not be.” Lovelace could feel her eyes drifting slowly shut, lids flicking open and closed quickly. She struggled against it, but Minkowski shook her head. 

“Sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Lovelace was asleep before she finished nodding her understanding.


End file.
